My thoughts are deadly, at night they sting like needles, while in the light of the day they burn like matches; fire feasting on my flesh and soul. I ache, all the time, I wait in agony with a smile on my face because if I'm not fine, I'm a nightmare. No one wants to deal with another's insanity, so I hide it in cupboards, locked tightly using keys of insecurity and of fear.
My soul is in pain, agonizing misery. Torture runs through the veins of my heart into my blood stream. My soul's screams of terrified agony pound in my head like a symphony of dead men's corpses that have awoken but can't escape the confinements of their coffins.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
It calls, pounding on wood rotten with maggots. Flesh eating worms slither across the corpses as I scream, calling out with a voice hoarse and without water.
My mind has become crazed, repeating a process with the same steps yet each time yearning for a different result, crying in rage when it never works out.
A montage of all my life's moments flashes before my eyes as one last stroke rips into my skin, by a sliver of silver that burrows deep and pulls at the woven muscle. A stream of deep red follows, a river of pain and sorrow escaping the confinements of a dam now destroyed. They say when you die you feel nothing, an eternal void. But when i was nearing the edge of my last breath, I felt the pain, the fear, the intense waves of misery; but in that moment something now unfamiliar with time resurfaced with the stains of red forming. Peace. I felt peace
My last breath came easy, as did the closing of my eyes. and as the peace left for good, that was the hardest part of suicide.
